


The Canyon Runners

by radishface



Category: NCT (Band), Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radishface/pseuds/radishface
Summary: “They were all hot-blooded in their own ways, desperately yearning. Jaehyun knew he was running but it hadn’t stopped him from running straight into Taeyong and Taeyong’s own escape from whatever it was.”They shouldn’t, but they do.





	The Canyon Runners

**Author's Note:**

> Boy howdy do I love this pairing. This fic was inspired by and adapted from Annie Proulx’s short story, _The Lonely Coast,_ about a group of middle-aged women who live the best lives they can out in cowboy country. 
> 
> Enjoy.

 

 

You ever see a house burning up in the night, already hell gone? Everything else with a light in the window looks like the dark ocean compared to a house burning up in the night. Nothing but blackness and your blazing disbelief as far as your eye can see. And in the deep center of it a triangle of flame the size of your thumbnail flickering. You’ll drive around for hours after thinking about the people in that house or look up at the sky punched with bullet holes. Either way you don’t give a damn. 

That was the year Taeyong lived in a trailer on the outskirts of Gangwon-do, where the Taebaek Mountains careened into the coast. Pine-black country where the wild grass grew up as high as your waist and when the summer was dry the fall would be full of fire. The kind that would usually die out unnoticed in the field but at times would rampage the terrain like a wildebeast trampling everything in its path.

Taeyong had his own troubles then. With the smoke in the air he was having panics on the nightly now reliving what happened to his mother. He’d been watching from the other side of the road when it happened. Better to look away but he couldn’t. The smoke and the smell of fire would trigger the memories. He wanted to get away from the fires. He didn’t have much so it wouldn’t take much to get going. But his car was busted and he hadn’t been saving anything to fix it.

His busted car was attached to the trailer he rented. A de facto anchor. The trailer smelled like forty years ago. The lights in the trailer were weak and buzzed like cicadas when he switched them on. He’d rented it from the recluse that landlorded over the park. She had been a rising star back in the early 00s, some kind of dancer out in the big city. Now she was out here with her boyfriend the both of them drinking themselves down and out. They had too many cats that had cats of their own that roamed the trailer park like gangsters on a beat. When they were in heat Taeyong could hear them from down the road.

Like the cats, Taeyong knew his way around fish. It came from the one summer when the winds were strong and blew him out down the mountain and out to the coast. It was a summer of hard work on the water. He came back knowing how to tie a hundred different knots, bulging forearms, and a tattoo of a tuna on his shoulder. His father didn’t say a word and the next spring when it was obvious Taeyong was not going to make it to college he had moved out and never stopped.

Now he was in the little town of B making sushi at Maiko House, and the other nights he sat in his trailer playing mobile games on his phone and trying to sleep. Waking always at the same hour when the cold morning would seep into his trailer and tickle his toes from where they poked out from a too-short too-thin blanket. Outside his window the crisp line of dawn threatening another day.

  
  
#

  
  
Taeyong cooked at Maiko House. He’d had the job for five months. Most people were part-timers or quit after a few weeks. Yuta owned the restaurant. He’d owned it for the last three years. His grandfather had moved to Korea after the war and set up shop out here in the hard country and it stayed in the family. Since Yuta forced his father into retirement the place was doing well but Yuta was hard to work for. Passive aggressive and envious he spoke prettily in front of the customers but picked fights with the staff if they stepped out of line. Taeyong never had a run-in with Yuta until the end, but he was good with his hands and fast at making nigiri and everyone knew to leave the cook alone.

Taeyong had two others he was friendly with. Doyoung and Johnny were slower than Taeyong but more talkative than he. In their own desperate ways they were disintegrating into piles of ash. On Friday night with some of Doyoung’s friends when Taeyong wasn’t tending bar they would go out drinking together. Sometimes they’d bring their girlfriends along. Doyoung’s girlfriend would sit in the back of the booth avoiding eye contact with the guys and tear napkins into thin white strips. Saturday nights they would put on their best clothes and what Doyoung called Taeyong’s fuckme jeans and meet at the Rawhide club and act out.

“You are, aren’t you?” Johnny would lean in too close, sometimes. “You’re a homo.”

“What makes you say that,” Taeyong said, sipping cooly at his drink.

“Never see you with a girl.” Johnny would throw his arm around Taeyong’s shoulders. Taeyong would shrug it off. “You wanna kiss me?”

“Fuck off.”

There were a group of girls who came every week too. Wendy, Seulgi, Irene, were the regulars. One time Seulgi stripped off her blouse to bare tits and Irene swung at some drunk who’d said the wrong thing and she got slugged back, cursing pure blue through a split lip while Wendy laughed from the side. Doyoung and Johnny looked like they wanted to run away with them. Doyoung’s girlfriend had gone home early and so Doyoung had offered the new girls a hit out back and they’d obliged. Johnny laughed. Take your chances where you can get them.

Taeyong had followed them out because even though he was a loner he didn’t want to be left behind and the huddle of them came back later with white under their noses and enough energy to burn until the early morning.

It was like living. If Taeyong were still out at four in the morning only then he would begin to look like what he was: a strung out drifter with a love for rock candy and blow, chapped lips half gnawed off from his panic attacks, skin stretched too thin over jutting bones, departing into the dew-stained night alone and empty. When Jaehyun came along he had someone to spend the night with, and maybe that was the point.

Once a year Taeyong would take the three hour drive up into the mountains and see his dad. He and his dad had come through tough times but come out two broken pieces. His dad was trying to make it work with odd jobs. He was a handyman around town. He got winded easily and his knees were in bad shape. Taeyong wasn’t sure what to do about it. If there was anything he could do. So when he went back home they mostly drank and watched television.

Taeyong had good grades for a while but when his mom got hit by a truck right in front of their house when they were taking out the trash and had her brains smashed over the pavement his grades had gone to shit. He never went to college and he didn’t know why. Maybe if he just didn’t go he wouldn’t ever have to officially enter into a world where she didn’t exist anymore. He didn’t need to flunk college too to know that he just wanted to stay on the periphery. Right on the stony edge, looking into a cavern that screamed on for miles.

  
  
#

  
  
Haircuts too aggressive for their countryside sushi joint, haircuts that demanded a solid tithe of their salaries, were the style at Maiko House. Doyoung’s hair was neon orange. His brows were dyed, the eyes set wide and skin below dark and sullen looking.

Johnny had the shadow of a mustache and in the summer heavy stubble showed on his arms and his armpits would stink. He had a huge laugh and liked to speak in unintelligible English to show off. A kid would come to visit sometimes. Limp head of hair. Had Johnny’s chin. Might have been Johnny’s. Always looked terrified of something and kept to himself.

Taeyong was thin and muscled from a metabolism that worked overtime. He hid his scrawniness under clothes that were too big for him and walked with a slouch. His hair was a strawberry foam, coarse and thick from too much bleach for too long. He smelled a little sour and sharp because he was always sweating out the drugs.

The three of them were all runners, hot-blooded in their own ways, desperately yearning. Maybe it was because out here in the country the people were spread far and thin and so when you saw another human being you were quick to heat, quick to assume, quick to jump like if something came to take you in the middle of the night. The instinct that extended to anger, the urge to wreck something without consequences, the urge to hit and run.

The story about Taeyong was that when someone at the bar grabbed his ass and called him pretty boy that he jumped him and knocked his nose in before slamming his head back into the floor, straddling his chest as he dealt blow after blow to his bleeding face. You didn’t tell Taeyong what he was. It gave him a dangerous appeal that turned the blood of even the surest man and made them think maybe, maybe, they could teach him a thing or two.

The latest was Jung Jaehyun, who had arrived at the club on a Saturday night. He’d taken one look at Taeyong sitting next to him and his lips had parted like he’d been summoned to the rapture. Shot back a reply “what are you looking at” and a finger in his face he’d stared Taeyong down with a dazed gape like the air crackling with electricity right after lightning struck. And then Jaehyun had snatched Taeyong’s wrist and gripped so hard that the bones ground together. He brought Taeyong’s finger to his lips, touching the pad of Taeyong’s finger with the tip of his tongue. Something about being a nobody out in the middle of nowhere had enervated him.

Jung Jaehyun had pale brown eyes the color of seaweed crackers and was maybe a few years younger than Taeyong but had the confidence of someone a decade older. He was one of those who bled civility tinged with shrewd intentions that knew what you were going to do before you did it. And for someone who confessed to have never touched a man before that night he seemed to know exactly what Taeyong wanted.

 _Let me do it_ , Jaehyun breathed. _Let me do it to you._

And Taeyong let him.

  
  
#

  
  
Jung Jaehyun passed through the town of B on business, staying at a hotel near the club. His father had a factory north of Gangwon and he had stopped by Rawhide on his way back to Seoul, looking for a place to sit other than the hotel bar. When Taeyong pressed him why a rich fuck like him didn’t just fly Jaehyun said he liked the way the drive made him feel.

The next morning in a black Mercedes that gleamed like a clean slice of volcanic rock and hummed like a big cat, Jaehyun drove Taeyong back home. Air freshener that smelled like sage wafted through the air conditioning. Taeyong reclined the passenger’s seat back all the way and drank in the sweet air one thirsting gulp at a time. He nodded off halfway there, held tenderly by the curve of leather seats, by the memory of how Jaehyun had touched his face when he came last night, how Jaehyun had pressed his cheek to Taeyong’s and sighed into his ear.

He let himself drift happily along. He told himself that it was fine because he would never see Jaehyun again after this. He felt invincible, sexy, cold, princely. He didn’t need Jaehyun. Jaehyun, with his sparkling eyes and his dimples and his rich boy swagger was just for fun and Taeyong had him at his prime. Rich boy walking into a small town getting whatever he wants. He pitied him. It was only through Taeyong’s generosity that Jaehyun could experience the most pleasure he’d ever experienced in his coddled life.

It was in that spirit that once they were in the trailer Taeyong grabbed Jaehyun’s wrist and spun him around and pinned him against the kitchen sink and pressed his hardening cock against Jaehyun’s own. Again they fucked like they would never see each other again, like they had nothing to lose.

  
  
#

  
  
Jaehyun was helplessly crazy for Taeyong from the moment Taeyong had shown him his little world. He hurt like hell when he had to leave the trailer that afternoon.

He thought it would go away with a day, then a few days, then a week, then weeks, but his heart was jumping and clenching and he couldn’t get Taeyong out of his head. Taeyong with his eyes as dark and deep as a well. Whose skinny body frail like a wet bird had stirred something so protective and fierce in Jaehyun that he felt like he finally understood what it meant to want to die for your country.

So it didn’t come as a surprise to him when, at his next visit north, he found himself volunteering to drive again, volunteering to stay local again, found himself in front of the pink and blue neon lights of the club. It wasn’t a surprise to him when he found himself at the bar and face-to-face with one Lee Taeyong, whose eyes were stretched so wide and lips so thin and skin so pale that Jung Jaehyun thought he would bolt out of his skin.

“Just a whiskey sour,” Jaehyun told the bartender with more confidence than he had.

“What the hell are you doing here,” Taeyong hissed. But later their hands found their way into each other’s as Taeyong dragged him to the bathroom and dropped down on his knees and took Jaehyun into his mouth. “Fuck,” Taeyong said, laving his tongue up and down and slapping Jaehyun’s cock against his cheek as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Jaehyun grasped fistfuls of Taeyong’s hair in his hands, gasping, tasting the chlorine and the bleach and the piss particles in the air. “Taeyong, slow down, please.”

“Fuck you. You shouldn’t have come back.”

“Why,” Jaehyun moaned. Taeyong felt something tweak irrevocably in his head. The way Jaehyun breathed, the softness, the way his skin smelled, the way he looked down, his brown eyes wet and heavy-lidded, the way he made Taeyong feel like he could suck cock on his knees forever—

“Shut up,” Taeyong said, scrambling to undo his own belt. Freeing himself he wound a fist around himself and jerked himself off to the same furious rhythm he was milking Jaehyun to. “Shut up and take it.”

  
  
#

  
  
Jaehyun found excuses to keep visiting the bottling factory in Gangwon. And didn’t Taeyong like that? It seemed to be the way he measured how Jaehyun felt about him. He’d never admit it but out here in the middle of nowhere all Taeyong wanted was someone to pull him close and say it’s all right. Maybe Jung Jaehyun with his wondering smile and the touch of an innocent every few weeks was as close as he’d get.  
  
  
  
#  


August was scorching and dry and slow. A disaster for crops everywhere, sun baking the brush dry. It would be another three weeks before Jaehyun could go out again to the factory up north.

He made the drive with all the windows rolled down so the heat could at least blow past him like a sauna. He checked into the hotel first and then drove to the factory where he met with the owner. He managed to lose himself in the work for a while but when it was obvious that business hours were over — the bell ringing, the workers sloughing off to the entrance, the mood shifting brighter—Jaehyun hightailed it to his car and sped into B to catch Taehyun after his shift.

Jaehyun dreamed about telling someone, anyone, about Taeyong without telling them the whole story. He dreamed of telling some friend of his that he had met someone at the factory. Not your usual country bumpkin. Fiercely smart and sullen. But she liked to make him jealous. Why would she do that, when Jaehyun was so obviously smitten with her? And maybe in a different world he would be able to say Taeyong’s name and talk about the way he looked and who he actually was. That it was Taeyong’s long fingers and the sharp cut of his jaw and the fire in his eyes and what was between his legs was what took Jaehyun’s breath away, kept him stolen.

He kept the hurt and the ecstasy to himself. If his parents had their way he would be married sometime in the next two years. The weeks he was not traveling he was being shopped around from daughter to daughter. Without consciously meaning to he started to look for someone whom he wouldn’t let down. He threw himself into the work, into the long drives out to factories in the middle of nowhere. He knew he was running but it hadn’t stopped him from running straight into Taeyong and Taeyong’s own escape from whatever it was.

Taeyong was not immune. He hated the fire that took a hold of him, that held him here waiting for the next time that Jaehyun would pass through. And when he walked in through the bar doors and sat down in front of Taeyong and placed his order Taeyong would lean in and listen to his stories. Jaehyun would reach out and examine Taeyong’s hands for cuts. And the moment Taeyong felt the kind of tenderness that might destroy him Taeyong would start to give the girls dark, heavy, wanting stares, wrap Doyoung’s arms around him.

Taeyong told it to everyone that Jaehyun would stop visiting the moment he got a wife and a respectable way of living. That it was rare to have a rich boy around these parts and that there was no reason for him to keep coming and yet he did anyway. Bottling, who would have thought there was so much money in bottles, but with the nightly stupor that Koreans drank themselves into maybe it made sense after all. Maybe Jaehyun’s family was complicit in the nation’s collective alcoholism.

Jaehyun would put his head down, try to wait it out with a tight little smile before he started to tremble, started to lose his cool, slammed money down on the counter, left.  
  
  
  
#  
  
  
  
When Jaehyun heard knocking on his hotel door some two hours later it was with some dark satisfaction that he threw it open and a bedraggled Taeyong walked in. He tried not to care that Taeyong was dripping wet.

“Storm came,” Taeyong said. “Right as I was crossing the street.”

“Mmhm,” Jaehyun said, busying himself at the desk. Jotting down a note on the hotel-branded notepad with the hotel-branded pencil. He wrote down the name of the factory owner and a note about the next action item he required from him in order to guarantee next month’s shipment on time. It was bullshit. He knew it in his head. But with every stroke of the pencil it was like a little piece of Taeyong was getting chipped away.

“You should have stayed,” Taeyong said. “The bar filled up. Cock fight just ended. They have them every week. There are five _ajussis_ that come around and one of them always wins and has to buy everyone else a drink. Otherwise it’s all the young hicks that come in from the area. Cock fight’s right in the area. Had to serve them so many rounds. Wendy, Seulgi, Irene came by too. We were slammed. You’d like Irene, maybe. She’s the classic one. The kind your parents would want to set you up with.”

“Mmhm,” Jaehyun said.

“There were so many people there. Girls doing the only thing they can do out here. There were only three of us there, me and Doyoung and Johnny and as fast as we went we couldn’t keep up. Everyone was pouring drinks down. Shouting. Lighting kept going off. Electricity went out a few times. You shoulda heard it when the lights came back on. The way everybody oohed and ahhed.”

“Mmhm,” Jaehyun said, abandoning the notes and the pencil and walking over to Taeyong. There was a terrific blast of light and thunder outside the window. The lights in the hotel went off and there was the head-hollowing smell of ozone. A sheet of rain struck the window. The lights surged on but weak and yellow.

“You’re a little shit,” Jaehyun said into Taeyong’s neck, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his jeans, yanking Taeyong to him.

“So stop, then.” Taeyong’s voice was desperate, catching from his babbling. He was coming undone, and he closed his eyes to stymie the flow of his sanity. “Stop coming back.”

Some kind of joyous hysteria mixed with Jaehyun’s hurt and anger. _Don’t want to_ , he thought to himself, as he inhaled and took in the smell of Taeyong’s sweat and Taeyong’s aftershave, the smell of earth, clothes dried on a line, Taeyong’s paycheck’s worth on cologne, smoke, booze, the music in the bar in his skin. This string of broken Saturday nights with Lee Taeyong touched his life with a kind of magic that made it seem like something was happening.

 _Don’t want to stop._  
  
Taeyong’s eyes fastened on his face, his throat and cheeks flushed with things Jaehyun wasn’t certain he could name. “What do you want?”

Taeyong twisted, arching his hips to Jaehyun’s. “I don’t care,” he said automatically, sliding open the top button of Jaehyun’s fly.

Jaehyun pulled back a little, his eyes flashing. “If you don’t care, then—”

“That’s not what I meant.” And abruptly, with a burst of great clarity, Taeyong realized that in fact he did care. Jaehyun’s gaze held and softened, and Taeyong swam in it.

“Beautiful,” Jaehyun breathed. Over the sound of the storm outside Taeyong could barely hear it but he did. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the words from getting past the gates but he was already so cracked open that there was no stopping it.

Jaehyun worked his way out of his clothes and Taeyong out of his. He closed his arms around Taeyong in a light embrace. Taeyong reached up and held Jaehyun to the sound of the rain pelting the window. Jaehyun’s body was lean and curved, broad-shouldered and healthy and flush, and Taeyong, once he placed his hands on Jaehyun’s skin, didn’t want to stop touching him, mapping him. Jaehyun was so different from him. Taeyong knew he was parchment thin, sharp angles, hard edges. He wished to be different. He wanted something different. There was something whole and perfect about Jaehyun here and Taeyong wished that he could be to Jaehyun what Jaehyun was to him.

It was just the naked two of them, heat between their legs, tongues in each other’s mouths, hands in each other’s hair as they ached toward release. And then when they were done there was nothing left of either of them.

  
  
#

  
  
There were times when Lee Taeyong thought the town of B was the best place for him—after a night of hard work at Maiko House when he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, when he could greet the dawn after a raucous night of drinking—Taebaek Mountains pushing jagged into the broad expanse of sky stretching lavender as far as the eye could see, fresh air filling his lungs with the promise of a new tomorrow.

But then in moments like these when Jaehyun was buttoning up his face freshly pink from his morning shower, when they were rolling up to Taeyong’s trailer in the Black Mercedes, that he’d realized where he was.

Taeyong had slammed the front door behind him and slid down it and listened to the sound of the Mercedes purring away until he didn’t anymore. “Fucking shithole,” he said, and banged his fist against the tinny door. The cat whined from somewhere under the trailer. “Fucking ass shithole.”  
  
  
  
#  
  
  
  
The door opened and four or five men spilled in, farmhands looking for a fun night out, jackets wet and shoes muddy, squeezing through the dancers before the cockfight. The atmosphere was hot and wet and everybody was dressed up. Jung Jaehyun was down at the bar, looking around lazily at the scene, fingertip drawing circles around the rim of his drink as he watched the dancers.

The song had just switched when the front door jerked open again, wind popping it against the wall, and Taeyong came through, streaming wet, artful hair plastered flat. His white shirt clung to him, transparent in places, like burned skin where it bunched and the color doubled up. His eyes were red, his mouth thin and sneering.

“Whiskey,” Taeyong barked at the bartender. “I’m celebrating a fucking shit day.”

“What happened,” Jaehyun said, alarmed. Doyoung trailed after with his girlfriend and a few other girls. Jaehyun recognized one of them as Irene and he waved hello.

“Flooding in the trailer park from all this fucking rain,” Taeyong said. “My place smells like shit. Nothing’s dry. But that’s only half the problem. I got fired. Nakamoto fuckin’ Yuta fired me. Out of nowhere. Don’t get on my case tonight.”

“I won’t,” Jaehyun said gently, pressing against Taeyong with his thigh. He seemed to want to get something going, but Taeyong was still burning and wasn’t quelled enough yet to want it back. Doyoung took a seat next to Jaehyun, trying to grin but it came out garbled.

“Taeyong’s pissed,” he muttered. As if Jaehyun didn’t already know.

“As soon as the rain stops we’re all going to the city and to a fucking decent club. Fuck 'em all.” He knocked back the whiskey, slamming the glass down on the bar hard enough that a crack appeared. “See? Everything I touch falls apart.”

“No it doesn’t,” Jaehyun said.

“It does,” Taeyong laughed. “I’m tired of this bullshit place. Let’s go to the city and just hang out somewhere for a while. Fuck him. Fuck that Nakamoto guy.”

“It’s just a job,” Seulgi called from the other side of the bar. Doyoung tried to shush her, but she kept going. “Just find another one.”

“I can take us,” Doyoung said, looking at the girls. “Jaehyun, why don’t you take Taeyong.”

At the cash register Doyoung murmured to Jaehyun what he knew—that Nakamoto Yuta had fired Taeyong because he caught him out back snorting a line. Yuta was zero tolerance on that. For now Yuta would just do the cooking himself. He was talking about getting a real Japanese chef to come in.

“Right,” Jaehyun said muzzily, fumbling for his keys. He shouldn’t have drunk so much if they were just going to be driving back. “Just one sec.”

“Let me do it,” Taeyong said, holding his hand out. “Let me do it, please.”

  
  
#

  
  
There’s a feeling you get driving down to Seoul at night from the north, and not only there, other places where you come through hours of darkness unrelieved by any lights except the crawling wink of some faraway farm truck. You come down a mountain and all at once the shining city lies below you, slung out as far as the eye can see. The lights trail away to the east in a brilliant cluster of white and yellow lights and then there’s the dark strip of the Han River creeping through the noise like a winding blackout. You think about the sea that must have covered this place hundreds of millions of years ago, the slow evaporation, the mud turned to stone, the city rising from nothing. Nothing calm there. It’s never finished. Nothing is finished.

Maybe that’s how they saw it. Maybe that’s how they saw it, going to Seoul. Taeyong keyed up, seriously keyed up, fidgeting with the air con and the volume controls and twisting in his seat, teeth chattering, rambling on and on. Jaehyun in the lull of whiskey and the cocoon of the passenger’s seat, quiet, wondering what he’d tell his father the next day, wondering what he’d tell the girl he was supposed to meet, wondering how much longer the road was before he reached a dead end.

Most things you never know what happened or why. From what Doyoung and Irene and Seulgi could remember from where they were behind the black Mercedes and from what the news said it was that they were on a road full of cars and trucks and Taeyong had tried to get around a trailer loaded with tanks of water. While he was passing the trailer a blue pickup truck passed him, swerving into the oncoming traffic lane and forcing cars off the road. Taeyong swerved and hit the side of the trailer and the back of the pickup hard enough to give Jaehyun a nosebleed. The hood of the Mercedes was cracked open like an alligator with its jaw hinged open, its gaping insides steaming with mangled guts. But Taeyong was raging. Doyoung pounded on the horn but Taeyong didn’t stop. He pulled around the water trailer and sped after the pickup which had belted off the exit ramp.

Taeyong didn’t come back to B that night or the next night or the night after that. Jaehyun never stopped by the bar again, nor did they ever see him at the bottling factory up north.

You know what I think? It’s like what Johnny said. Taeyong might have seen his chance and taken it. It’s easier than you think, to surrender to your impulses. Like falling into a canyon, miles deep.  
  


 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And so completes my first Jaeyong fic! Thanks so much for reading. 
> 
> I’m on Twitter @_radishface and I post fic updates and other kpop nonsense. I also write for P101, W1, and Nu’est. See you next time.
> 
>  **Time to write** | 5 hours 45 minutes  
>  _If you enjoyed this fic please consider leaving a comment or kudos. It’s every writer’s fuel <3_


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